The Code of the Woosters / Фамильная честь Вустеров

”

It was a sad story, of course. A magistrate who could nick a fellow for five pounds, when a mere reprimand would more than have met the case, was capable of anything, but I couldn’t see what she thought there was to be done about it. It’s better to start a new life and try to forget. That’s what I said to my aunt. She gazed at me in silence for a moment.

“Oh? So that’s how you feel, is it?”

“I do, yes.”

“You admit, I hope, that by every moral law that cow-creamer belongs to Tom?”

“Oh, certainly”.

“But would you allow this ugly man to get away with the swag? You would just sit tight and say �Well, well!’ and do nothing?”

I weighed this.

“Possibly not �Well, well!’, but I wouldn’t do anything.”

“Well, I’m going to do something. I’m going to steal the damn thing.”

I started at her, astounded. I uttered no verbal rebuke, but there was a distinct “Tut, tut!” in my gaze. Even though the provocation was, I admitted, I could not approve of these strong methods.

And I was about to awaken her dormant conscience, when she added:

“Or, rather, you are!”

“Who, me?”

“That’s right. You’re going to stay at Totleigh. You will have a hundred excellent opportunities—”

“But, dash it![48 - Dash it! – Чёрт побери!]”

“—and I must have it, because otherwise I shall never be able to dig a cheque out of Tom for that Pomona Grindle serial. He simply won’t be in the mood. And I signed the old girl up yesterday at a fabulous price, half the sum agreed upon to be paid in advance a week from current date.

So, my lad. I can’t understand why you are so surprised. It doesn’t seem to me much to do for a loved aunt.”

“It seems to me a dashed thing. I’m not going to—”

“Oh, yes you are, because you know what will happen, if you don’t.”

She paused significantly.

“You follow me, Watson[49 - Watson – Уотсон]?”

I was silent. She had no need to tell me what she meant.

This was not the first time she had displayed a sword. This ruthless relative has one all powerful weapon which she holds constantly over my head like the sword. The threat that if I don’t obey she will bar me from her board and wipe Anatole’s cooking from my lips. I shall not forget the time when she placed sanctions on me for a whole month—right in the middle of the pheasant season. I made one last attempt to reason with her.